Page 40

Chapter 40

Piers

I take a slow breath, forcing my hands steady as I crouch beside the bed. She’s so small, barely a bump beneath the blankets, and the last thing I want to do is startle her. If she screams, this whole mission is over before it even starts.

My pulse pounds against my ribs as I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over her arm. “Hey, little one,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft. “Time to wake up.”

She shifts slightly, her little nose scrunching, but doesn’t wake.

Shit.

From the doorway, Roger makes a sharp motion with his fingers- hurry it up.

I clench my jaw, ignoring the way my nerves tighten. This isn’t something I can rush. If she wakes up scared, if she panics- this whole thing could fall apart.

Turning back to her, I lean in a little closer. My voice is barely above a whisper, but it still feels deafening in the silence.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmur. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She shifts again, this time letting out a tiny sigh. My heart clenches, and I force myself to stay patient, to keep my voice even and warm.

Her eyelids flutter, a little crease forming between her brows.

“That’s it,” I coax softly. “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

She stirs, letting out a tiny sniffle, her face scrunching before she blinks up at me with bleary eyes. Big, dark eyes. Fantasia’s eyes.

A lump lodges in my throat.

She blinks again, confused, and for a second, I think she’s about to cry.

“Hey,” I whisper quickly, hands up, nonthreatening. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She stares at me, her little chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Then, in the quietest, wobbliest voice I’ve ever heard, she whispers, “Mum?”

The word punches through me, sharp and brutal.

I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah, love. I’m gonna take you to her.”

Her lip wobbles, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “Mummy.”

I nod again, my chest squeezing. “Soon, I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just keeps looking at me, blinking slow, like her little brain is still waking up.

And I can’t stop staring back.

She’s mine.

I don’t need a test, don’t need Fantasia to tell me what I already know deep in my bones. This little girl- this tiny, hiccuping, tear-streaked child- is mine.

And Fantasia never told me.

I force the thought aside, shoving it down, because I can’t afford to deal with that right now. Right now, all that matters is getting her out of here.

I reach for her slowly. “Come here, love. Let’s get you back to your mum.”

How could Fantasia do this? She cared so little for me– trusted me so little- that she was willing to do this alone. To raise our child without ever telling me she existed.

I grit my teeth, forcing the thought away. This isn’t the time.

Instead, I focus on the little girl in my arms, holding her close as I rise to my feet. She’s warm, her tiny hands wrapping around my neck, her breath soft against my chest. And despite everything—the danger, the heartbreak, the chaos—I feel something I haven’t in two years.

I feel anchored.

She trusts me. Without hesitation, without question, she melts into me like she belongs there, like she knows I’ll keep her safe. And as I hold her, something inside me- something I thought was too broken, too hollow- expands. Like my heart, scarred and locked away for so long, just cracked wide open, making room for her in an instant.

For the first time in years, I’m not drifting. I’m not lost in the current of everything I’ve done, everything I’ve lost. Holding her, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath against me, grounds me in a way I didn’t know I was missing.

I press my lips to her hair, just for a second, and tighten my hold.

But just as we near the door, as I’m about to make it out of this damn house, I hear it.

A voice, low and sandpaper-rough, shreds the silence. “What the fuck?”

I track the sound down the hall- just enough light to silhouette the guard. His body goes rigid when he clocks the body on the floor, then me framed in the doorway. Recognition flashes like a muzzle flare. No hesitation. Radio already at his lips, voice blade-sharp.

“10-99, man down, intruder spotted. Lock it down, now!”

My blood turns icewater.

We’ve been found.

“Shit.” No time to think- just move. My legs ignite, pumping like they haven’t since I was twenty. Roger and Arthur are already a blur ahead, steel glinting in their fists as they carve a path toward the garage. Behind us, boots slam against tile, sluggish but gaining- weapons still clearing holsters, shouts clotting the air.

“Move!” Roger barks, shoving open the garage door.

Arthur grabs my arm and yanks me forward. I clutch the little girl tighter against my chest as we tear through the house and down the hall.

The click of a safety being switched off slices through the air?—

Arthur moves before I even register what’s happening. A sharp shove to my side sends me off balance just as the gunshot cracks through the space.

He jerks beside me, a strangled grunt ripping from his throat as he stumbles forward.

My stomach plummets. That bullet was meant for me.

“Arthur!” I lunge to catch him, my grip slipping against the slick warmth of blood spreading across his shoulder. He grits his teeth, shaking me off.

“Go!” His voice is tight with pain, but he doesn’t stop moving. He clutches his wound, forcing himself forward, and somehow still manages to reach the car first. He wrenches open the driver’s side door with a sharp hiss of breath. “Get in the damn car, Piers!”

I don’t hesitate.

Roger dives into the passenger seat while I slide into the back, as Arthur slams the car into reverse. Tires screech, the stench of burning rubber fills the air, and then we’re spinning, peeling out of the garage and into the night.

Gunfire cracks behind us. Bullets bounce off the trunk.

Roger curses, ducking low. I curl tighter around the little girl, shielding her small body as another round of gunfire pings off the metal. Arthur growls something under his breath, knuckles white on the wheel as he jerks the car onto the road, tires screeching against pavement.

The little girl whimpers against my chest.

I press my lips to her hair, holding her close. “I’ve got you,” I murmur. “You’re safe.”

For the first few minutes, every breath is razor-sharp, every heartbeat a countdown. But as the estate shrinks in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the night, something shifts. The gunfire fades. The headlights chasing us never come.

And the further we get, the more certain I am- we’re going to make it.

And then I think of Fantasia.

She’s waiting.

She’s counting on me.

I loosen my grip just enough to look down at the little girl, brushing a hand over her curls. She’s just watching me. Trusting me.

“We’re going to your mama,” I tell her softly. “I’m taking you to her right now.”

And for the first time since stepping into that house, I believe it.